


Brandy and Wildflowers

by uncreativerabbit



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncreativerabbit/pseuds/uncreativerabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three months of no contact from Carlos, Cecil's perfectly placed personality comes crashing down around him. Determined to forget his perfect scientist, he takes Night Vale's 'drink to forget' slogan a little too seriously.</p><p>Spoilers for 'The Retirement of Pamela Winchell,' and back, it also has some trigger warnings for alcoholism and everything that usually comes with being very drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brandy and Wildflowers

Everybody assumed that Cecil was okay.

Why wouldn’t he be? He was Night Vale radio’s infamous over-sharer, spending hours chatting about his own personal life, and of recent – well, a year ago – nattering on about his infatuations with the new scientist Carlos, and the developments of their relationship from a business one to a romantic one, much to Cecil’s delight. He neglected informing the little town of their goings-on, quickly rushed the traffic and even risked an unknown punishment from the station management in favour of informing the whole of the population about a mediocre date. Some would say that they preferred hearing about it, that it was endearing, cute, and to put it into Cecil’s words, ‘neat,’ to hear about someone else’s happiness to distract themselves from their own issues. It was as if it were a sort of fiction.

This over-sharing, charismatic and open personality of Cecil’s was the only thing (excusing the utter weirdness of Night Vale in the beginning, although he got used to that in some time and even exploited the matter) that made Carlos hesitant about exploring any sort of relationship in the beginning. All of his assistants knew that feelings were developing on this part, through his insistence in many things, such as making sure Cecil understood that contact with him was ‘not personal,’ and listening to his radio show religiously in the lab, while forcing everyone else to keep silent while it was on, unless a matter of life or death came up. They even swore that Cecil’s fawning over him often raised the temperature of Carlos’ cheeks, although this was something that he furiously denied at first.

However, this carefully constructed personality of Cecil’s was purely that, a professional personality, put on to keep his listeners at arm’s length while simultaneously feeling that they had possession of his journal. Those who knew him, Josie and Earl mainly, knew about this, although to the rest of the town, it was his own, well-kept secret. Even in months of dating, Carlos didn’t seem to have much of an idea about his boyfriend’s non-professional personality, not because he didn’t care, partly because he was very wrapped up in his science, but mostly because Cecil refused to show him any sort of cracks in his façade. He had seen the one, his breakdown at his assumed death, but apart from some light-hearted passive-aggressiveness, often meant with the intention of a joke and to keep up his bitchy radio persona, he would hide away at an extreme turn of emotion.

After Carlos’ entrapment in the desert in the other dimension, Cecil adopted a ‘keep calm and carry on’ way of living. He briefly mentioned his boyfriend on the radio when necessary, and focused solely on delivering news, traffic and stopping the emergency press-conferences of the now retired mayor of Night Vale. He mourned the death of intern Maureen, briefly, and looked forward to the night times, for the short phone calls from his beloved, although once having another passive-aggressive dig on the radio for those. Most times, Carlos spoke about his sciences, the masked army and the amount of discoveries he had made, while Cecil mentioned the old oak doors, and hinted at wanting him to drop his science and come home, while trying to avoid a breakdown on the phone. Occasionally, they shared romantic and intimate moments over the phone, but that was even rarer than a surviving intern.

These phone calls then dwindled, soon becoming once every few days to once a week, to once a month, to a random time after two months, to nothing. No phone calls for four months. Cecil never mentioned Carlos on the radio again, throwing all his time into perfecting his personality. Carlos was never the perfect one, he was effortlessly special, but Cecil, on the other hand, pieced his personality together like building blocks, everything fit into its proper place, tightly, to keep up this professional personality. However, this meant that one, inevitable knock would send it all crashing down some day, and that day arrived without warning.

Cecil wasn’t sure what started it, on a seemingly average day. He worked with a smile, he greeted Josie on the way to Big Rico’s, shared a meal with her joyfully, although she grimaced and said she preferred home cooking, he paid, offered to escort her home, was kindly thanked but rejected in favour of her Erikas, and went home by himself. Carlos had not been mentioned even once. Cecil, at the front door of their apartment, only referred to as his apartment, flicked on the light, tossed his coat onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine, not needing to fill it up with water as he had previously put enough in for two cups (not out of habit of two people, he furiously says in his head), and pulled out his own Night Vale community radio mug. Along with a see-through mug with a comical test tube design on it, filling them both up with coffee beans. 

Cecil noticed his mistake once he had poured his own coffee into his cup, realising that he didn’t have enough water to fill the second cup. He angrily tipped out the coffee beans, thankful that Carlos didn’t take sugar, and slammed the mug back into the cupboard above. He, however, had completely missed the cupboard shelf and the cup came toppling down, smashing on the laminated wooden flooring of their kitchen. After that, he didn’t know what made him step past the mess, pull the kitchen door ajar, and reach for the nearest bottle of brandy in their very small alcohol cupboard. He didn’t even pick up a glass.

It was a well-kept secret that Cecil lived wholly by the Night Vale saying of ‘drink to forget,’ and in many cases, he drunk to the excess and forgot. Forgot his teenage years, what happened to the brother that he supposedly had, the fact that he had a family beyond himself and his mother, and his intern stint at the community radio station. He had been a leisurely drinker with Carlos, enjoying a glass of wine with dinner or a film, even getting pleasantly tipsy, the night ending in a fit of giggles and a light-hearted display of love, occasionally. However, he intended on forgetting about it all, everything about Carlos, he wanted to strip from his memory, and this was the night to do it. He took another, huge gulp of the brandy, straight from the bottle, and sniffed.

“I love you, Carlos.” Cecil almost shouted while sobbing, clutching onto the bottle of brandy tightly.

\---

Carlos had found the oak door, with a bittersweet feeling. An error in the other dimensional desert drained his phone battery around three months ago, and he had lost touch with Cecil. He said goodbye to Doug and the rest of the masked men and went back through the door into Night Vale with a mixed feeling of absolute excitement and sheer terror at what was going to get him on the other side of the door. Would Night Vale be angry at him for leaving Cecil without any contact, would he have bitched on the radio about it? Would Cecil take him back into his heart? They both lived together, Carlos couldn’t even fathom what would happen if there was a negative reaction from Cecil.

He decided it wouldn’t be best to stop off at their apartment first, instead stopping off at the now empty, uncared for laboratory. Carlos was surprised to still find that everything was in order, perhaps Cecil had helped to keep the place up and running for his return. He went upstairs into his old apartment that he shared with the other scientists and prepared himself to meet Cecil. He had a brief shower, enough to wash off all the dust and grime, enough to shave off his beard, but not to keep him from Cecil. He put on the same outfit as he did, that night at the Arbys, buttoning up the red, plaid shirt with slightly trembling fingers. Catching himself in the mirror on his way out, hair damp and messy, shirt untucked and creased, and shoes scuffed, he didn’t look the best, but deep down, he thought that would be better for the situation.

Getting into his car, he drove down to Cecil and his apartment, stopping off at a florist to pick up some wildflowers for Cecil as a small gift for him, due to his love for them and the reminder of their first date in Mission Grove Park. He hoped to be able to explain the situation, present him with the flowers to show him that he truly cared, and spend the night in his boyfriend’s arms. He’d vowed to turn off the science in his mind and focus on Cecil and their relationship together. Time had sailed past their one year anniversary, and it was slowly coming up to one and a half years together, something that he promised he would celebrate wholeheartedly.

Arriving, he excitedly leaped up the metal stairs with the bouquet in hand, although quietened down when he reached the balcony, he wanted to surprise his lover (although in the circumstance of his arrival, this might end badly, but only time would tell). He quietly slotted the key into the lock and turned it, taking a deep breath before opening the door. He was hesitant, he heard no noise from the inside, but he’d seen Cecil’s car. He wondered if he were asleep or showering, but continued anyway, stepping into the apartment, finding it shrouded in darkness.

The smell of alcohol permeated the air and Carlos knew instantly there was something wrong. He slipped the bouquet behind his back and walked forward in the dark hallway until he heard a noise, the sound of glass knocking together, coming from the living room. He stopped in front of the door to that room and pushed it open softly, the door knocking the bottles on the way in. A slumped over figure by the sofa jolted up, and the light from the moon faintly showed Cecil’s eyes. He made no effort to even bother to face Carlos as he screwed on the cap of the bottle he was holding and pushed it onto the table. Night Vale’s little saying hadn’t worked for him this time, it had in fact, gone the opposite way. In the future, it may have been a good thing for Cecil, but for now, he just wanted to be alone.

Carlos had other ideas, however, and he walked over to his boyfriend and knelt down in front of him, still holding the forgotten bouquet. Cecil was crying harder now, trying to hang his head, avert his gaze and Carlos did nothing to make him look at him. He put down the flowers instead, next to the bottle of alcohol on the table and inside, he sadly laughed at the sight of the both of them together, side by side. What he had bought as an innocent pick-me-up for Cecil, to try and butter him up, and what Cecil had decided was a pick-me-up, to forget about him. He knew he was in for a challenging night ahead of him, he had never been around anything more than a mildly and pleasantly tipsy Cecil, and he was hesitant to tread, to reach out, to touch him, to speak. He didn’t need to though, as Cecil started to stutter out some unintelligible words, cut off by sobs as he tried to start his sentence over again, the same letter of ‘I’ being gasped out. Carlos couldn’t do anything but look at him with sad eyes and a heart-crushing sensation in his chest.

“I-I, I…I broke your c-cup, the test tube one. I’m so sorry!” Cecil pretty much shouted sadly at Carlos, which took him aback, and he couldn’t help but reach for Cecil, in the end grasping his arms as they flew up to block him from getting any closer to his crying figure on the floor. Carlos let Cecil’s arms drop, grasping one of his hands instead and entwining their fingers together, and even then, he felt Cecil squeeze him very briefly before attempting to pull away, Carlos not wanting to let go.

“Erm, that’s fine Cecil, I mean, it was a cup, it wasn’t anything too special, not something to warrant sobbing in a dark room, completely drunk off of brandy. What’s wrong? Tell me, please Cecil, it makes me sad to see you like this.” Carlos pleaded, and Cecil snapped his hand abruptly away.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it? You’ve drunk yourself silly, you’re crying, you’re hurt, you’re backing away from me, when I expected you to be at least somewhat happy when I got back to Night Vale, and you’re trying to play it off as smashing a cup. Please, stop hiding from me, Cecil.” Carlos surveyed the scene properly, the half-finished bottle of brandy on the table was also joined with a few bottles of beer on the floor, Carlos’ favourite brand, as if Cecil was trying to get rid of them. His mind ticked like clockwork, fitting the pieces together, until he took a deep breath and posed his worrying theory to Cecil, hoping that he’d get a truthful ‘no’ in response, but knowing the likelihood of that would be particularly rare.

“Were you drinking to forget me, Cecil?” Carlos asked hesitantly, trying to sound attentive and sympathetic to Cecil, but being unable to supress feeling slightly hurt at the thought of his boyfriend doing so. Cecil didn’t react, rather, he shied away from Carlos, head in the knees he had raised to his chest, hugging them tightly. Carlos backed away too, unable to think, formulate a plan, unable to know how to feel or how to react, nothing but utter a word so often used by scientists in their research, when developing a new theory on how life and the universe works.

“Why?”

Sometimes words can be extremely powerful, the connotations of them can evoke some of the most extreme reactions. Cecil had always been a man of words, able to decipher all of the secret meanings behind the letters. His current drunken state didn’t reduce his intelligence like most people, far from it, and as soon as the word spilled from Carlos’ mouth, his mind was off, formulating a speech that no sober man would say, especially the confrontation-fearing Cecil, but in his state, he ceased to care anymore, and Carlos had now breached the dam of his suppressed emotions and unmentioned worries.

“Why. Why? You are my boyfriend, yes? Being in a relationship is generally about sacrifices and patience, and often, just maybe, giving a little bit of a shit towards the person that you are supposedly going out with. That’s not what scientists do though, is it? They have to explore, they have to do ‘science,’ an unspecified ‘science,’ but it’s just ‘science,’ and the word ‘science’ makes it acceptable to drop anything else to focus on it. I mean, the ten minute calls were bad enough, you wouldn’t even spare more than ten minutes a day to talk to me, and all it was, ‘science’ this and ‘Doug’ that, and mountains Carlos, really, mountains? You never asked me about my day, you blatantly lied to me by saying you’d try to look for the doors when really you were off doing ‘science’ and probably romancing that bloody warrior, for all I know, considering you went on about him more than you went on about me! Oh, sod Cecil and the fact that he’s trying, just trying to keep it together on his own, making sure that everything was running smoothly for your return and not trying to hinder your work, ‘science’ and ‘Doug,’ much more important. The only time you ever cared for me is when your dick was hard and Doug was probably out of the picture!”

Wild hand gestures and all, Cecil had unloaded everything in one fell swoop, and had staggered up, beginning to pace the room, albeit not in a straight path, the tears there, but halted. Carlos stayed where he was, frozen emotionally, as if a weight inside his chest was pinning him down and the only energy he had left in him was not to fall down onto the floor and stay there. He knew Cecil was drunk, he knew if he waited, he could sort this, but deep inside of him, a childish urge to get back at him bubbled up, and he knew one phrase that would do this, but also potentially damage their relationship even further than it already was.

“I heard Earl Harlan was back in town.”

Before he could control his words, it had tumbled out of his mouth as quickly as Cecil’s head snapped around to glare at him as a reaction. He could feel himself being watched, even though he remained frozen to the spot, with his back turned. Of course, Cecil, being ever the diva, more so when drunk but also more justified, had to have the last word, as if he were cutting off Carlos from finishing, even though Carlos had nothing to add, the statement was enough.

“Don’t you dare.” The word ‘dare’ was spat with the utmost venom, as Cecil paced once more around the room, back and forth, back and forth, kicking a beer bottle on the floor. He hadn’t finished his ranting, and Carlos continued to sit there, unmoving as Cecil shouted at him, accused him and belittled him about the months. 

“You then stopped calling. You couldn’t even spare a call once a week, probably off with your ‘science’ and your ‘Doug,’ created your own little home after it all. I sat here going out of my mind with worry, but still simultaneously being expected to hold it together, hold our home together, hear your name in the streets, see your mug, still pull it out and offer you coffee, even though you weren’t there! I spent hours at my phone, waiting for you to ring me, a text, a snapchat, anything, nothing for four months! Do you really care for me that little?”

Carlos was crying now. Silently visible, he made little to no sound, his hand cupped over his mouth, his body visibly heaving, shoulders moving up and down. Cecil felt his anger crumble a little around him and averted his gaze, stepping over the bottles to get to the table, as Carlos stayed put. Cecil refused to turn around because from his angle now, he would see Carlos’ face, and he had never seen Carlos truly tearful before, and didn’t want to. He ignored the bouquet of wildflowers and instead reached for the bottle of brandy, so absorbed in trying to open it that he didn’t hear Carlos stand up and walk over to him.

He had dropped his hands, and while he didn’t want to face Cecil head-on, he couldn’t let this happen. Carlos walked over to him and snatched the bottle of brandy out of his hands, locking it back up in the alcohol cupboard. He then went into the kitchen and noticed the neglected cup of coffee on the side, tipping it into the sink and setting the mug to one side to clean later. He swept up the remnants of his test tube mug, tipping it into a bag. Carlos then took the bag out to the living room, surprised to find that Cecil had not salvaged his alcohol and was rather, sitting on the grey sofa (rather than the darker greyish-black one). Carlos began to clean up the empty beer bottles, putting them in the bag with a satisfying knock as they went in, one after the other. 

As he put the bottles in the bin, Carlos was happy for the fresh air and spent a moment outside, reflecting on the events of the night. He hadn’t been chucked out, Cecil had stopped drinking for the night, and he felt as if the both of them had calmed down enough after their outbursts to sit down and talk it out. Thinking about what to say as he walked back up the steps, reaching halfway down the balcony, he was cut off by the particularly loud sound of retching. He knew the sound instantly, it was Cecil, and it was most likely him vomiting, as although he’d only been in the presence of Cecil once during this sort of time, after a particularly bad case of food poisoning from the Arbys, Cecil was loud. Loud voice, loud gag reflex, Carlos assumed.

He shut the door behind him and went again in to the kitchen, this time, to grab a glass of water for Cecil. Opening the door of the bathroom, he put the glass of water on the shelf by the door, although he was hesitant to go in and see if Cecil was okay due to their argument, but also because he wasn’t particularly fond of the sight and sound of people throwing up. Carlos instead, opted to sit outside, sliding down the bathroom door, waiting for Cecil to be done (and also on guard just in case Cecil got dramatically worse). His fingers poked under the door slightly and he played around with the different feelings of the cold tile and the slightly warmer wooden flooring in the hall. He heard Cecil drink some of the water, flush the chain and rinse his mouth out with mouthwash. 

Carlos then felt a warmer sensation on his hand, something soft and gentle, something that moved of its own accord. It was then he realised that Cecil had probably done the same thing as he did, and he looked down, and saw another set of fingers slowly poke out of the underneath of the bathroom door. Carlos smiled, and he heard Cecil smile too, as he began to playfully knock Cecil’s finger, running his along the top of Cecil’s. It felt unimaginably soft and warm and while Carlos desired to have the whole of Cecil in his arms, this was enough, for now, this little bit of contact, because it showed to the both of them that everything was okay, as long as they solved the problem correctly. Cecil responded by trapping Carlos’ finger playfully in between his first and second fingers, and then rubbing the tip of it softly. Carlos heard a hum and chuckled in return, as they continued to play with each other’s hands and fingers.

Minutes later, Cecil pushed out an empty glass and shut the door after doing so, Carlos assumed that he still wasn’t ready to face him. He picked up the glass and took it outside into the kitchen, washing it up along with the rest of the washing. He heard a door open and footsteps stopping in the living room, so Cecil must have cleaned up the bathroom and left, the sickness temporarily washed away. Carlos refilled the cup to bring out to him, but stopped at the kitchen door once he cast his eyes on Cecil, who was by the table again. He had the bouquet of wildflowers in his arms, looking at them almost lovingly, admiring them from each angle. Carlos, with the glass of water, walked forward, setting it down on the table before looking at Cecil, standing slightly behind him.

“They’re beautiful.” Cecil started, staring again at the flowers. Carlos smiled and shuffled closer to him, draping an arm around his shoulder and wrapping the other one around his waist. Cecil continued to talk, to confirm that Carlos’ hope for the flowers were right.

“They remind me of our-“  
“-first date.” They finished together. Cecil looked up at Carlos, making the first bit of eye contact for a while, and the first bit of affectionate eye contact since, well, Carlos had left that morning, those many, many months ago. They both looked exhausted, eyes sticky with the residue of tears, puffiness and blotchy skin, but they still smiled at each other, shrouding the imperfections on their face. Cecil looked back at the flowers, touching one softly, continuing to admire them, as Carlos leant down and spoke in his ear.

“I didn’t particularly know what to do when I came back, as I hadn’t contacted you for so long. I wanted to surprise you with some old memories in the hope that we could sort things out and you wouldn’t be too harsh on me, once I’d explained myself. Of course, that didn’t work out just yet, but I’d like it if you gave me some time to speak to you once you’ve sobered up or something.” Carlos explained as Cecil put down the flowers on the table before spinning around in his arms to wrap his around Carlos’ neck.

“I love you, Carlos,” was Cecil’s simple response.  
“I love you too, Cecil.”

It was hesitant at first, they slowly leant into each other, their lips apprehensive to touch each other. Carlos was the one who made the first move, slowly brushing his lips against Cecil’s, but once they touched, Cecil, desperate for touch, yanked him closer and began to kiss him back quite strongly. Carlos was caught by surprise and staggered on his feet, but as the kiss turned into something a bit more passionate, Carlos gripped Cecil by the waist and brought the both of them down onto the floor, Carlos leant against the arm of the sofa while they kissed. Cecil smelled of brandy, mint, vanilla and the slightest hint of pollen which made him intoxicating to Carlos as they pulled away for breath, but not for long.

Again, the butterfly kisses started, mainly on Carlos’ part, before Cecil grabbed him and pushed him into a desperate kiss, half climbed into Carlos’ lap just to get closer to him. He moved with Carlos’ body and cupped his face, pulling his fingers through Carlos’ hair as Carlos furiously kissed him back, letting him lead him to where he wanted to go. The both of them were making sounds now, little grunts and sighs that the other partner thought cute, but also encouraging. Cecil was the most vocal one out of the two of them, he always was in the relationship, and while Carlos was focusing on keeping his head in this situation, Cecil didn’t care to hold back.

They pulled away yet again, panting, and Cecil grabbed Carlos’ hair again, gently pulling to expose some of his neck to plant sloppy kisses down the side of it. Carlos sighed but jerked after a couple of seconds, wanting to snap them both back down to reality, still not forgetting about Cecil’s state of mind and his lack of inhibitions, as well as his own morals to do with drunk people. Cecil, had other ideas, and once they were back to just a normal sitting position, he made them clear.

“Carlos, I want you.” He said quietly, and Carlos grasped his hands quickly. While part of him would have quite happily have gone with what Cecil wanted there and then, Cecil’s long-term wellbeing was paramount, as well as sorting out the problem between the both of them, the communication had broken down, and Carlos was determined to fix that with Cecil.

“Tomorrow, Cecil. Tomorrow, we can spend the day together doing whatever you want, dates, meals, getting to know each other’s bodies again, and trust me, I look forward dearly to when tomorrow comes. As for today, I don’t think that’d be a good idea. We’re both exhausted from the arguing and the drinking and the desert, and you’re not in the best state of mind or body, I don’t think for someone who has only just vomited, sex would be a good idea as it would unsettle your stomach. For now, why don’t we get comfortable and spend the next few hours talking. I want to explain myself to you, and I want to apologise to you, and then I want to hear about you, what you’ve been doing, about yourself a person, let’s talk about everything.” Carlos explained, helping both him and Cecil to their feet as Cecil nodded. 

Just before Carlos was about to walk off to set everything up, Cecil pulled him into a strong hug, burying his face into Carlos’ shoulder, and it seemed that he was crying again. Carlos wrapped his arms around his boyfriend tightly, sighing as he rubbed soothing circles into his back as he held him while he sobbed. It was only a brief hug, but it was enough, and quietly, from Carlos’ shoulder, Cecil spoke rather muffled.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything!”  
“I’m sorry too, Cecil.” Carlos spoke lovingly, moving one of his hands up to Cecil’s hair to stroke it.

They reluctantly pulled away from each other and decided that the best place to sleep and talk would be the living room. Both Cecil and Carlos pushed the sofas together and then moved the pile of blankets they kept for movie nights and laziness (they were still there) over the sofa, creating a make-shift bed. Cecil sat down on the end, complaining of sickness again, so Carlos grabbed some water for the both of them, some painkillers for Cecil and a plastic bucket for emergencies. While he was doing this, Cecil spotted the flowers again on the table, and picked them up, placing them in a vase on the windowsill so that they would get enough light. Carlos noticed Cecil gazing at the flowers as he walked in, so he put the water and the bucket down and joined his boyfriend at the window.

“I don’t want them to die…” Cecil mumbled sadly. Carlos ruffled his hair and put his arm around him, smiling at Cecil.  
“Things die, but the memories will live on in the person. We’ll always remember that date, won’t we?” He reassured Cecil, who nodded in agreement. He slowly moved Cecil over to their makeshift bed, showing him where the water and the bucket was placed just in case he was ill. The both of them stripped down to their shirts and underwear before climbing under the blankets, and they both held each other as the night progressed.

Carlos dominated the first half with an explanation of why he couldn’t contact Cecil, filled with apologies from the both of them. He then went on to explain his train of thought for having them both lay in bed, talking, and remarked that Cecil may not remember the night (which he protested against), and that the breakdown in communication was what caused the arguments, the jealousy, the speculation, and he was determined to not let that be their downfall, to which Cecil silently agreed, thumb pressed to his mouth. They spoke about Night Vale and the other dimensional desert, filling each other in on the happenings in each respective town, their adventures, their discoveries, Pamela Winchell’s retirement, the masked army, the non-existent mountains, earthquakes, interns, StrexCorp, angels and blinking lights.

Talk then turned to their pasts. Mainly Cecil’s past resurfaced, as he confided into Carlos about his previous drinking problems and love/hate affair with the Night Vale ways of thinking and dependency on alcohol. Carlos explained how his love for science started and they both began to theorise about how he ended up in Night Vale, talking about it for hours on end before coming to the conclusion that they didn’t know, but they were eternally grateful to those who controlled the strings of fate for bringing them together. Small talk was made, films, food, favourites, every inch of their minds and personalities were confessed to each other throughout the early hours of the night in a bid to understand the both of them even more, bracing each other for any possible arguments or random events Night Vale (or not Night Vale) may throw at them again. 

Cecil was sick twice more in the night, held lovingly by Carlos who averted his gaze as he kept his head in between his knees, the bucket at his feet. Carlos tried to swallow his discomfort at being in the presence of a vomiting Cecil, but after the second time, he managed to actually empty the bowl for Cecil in the bathroom, while Cecil sat there, semi-sober and shaking, but still weakly smiling.

The night was peppered with kisses and apologies, and they both vowed to support each other as much as they could when the tough happened, and to work at their relationship if ever an argument happened. Communication, something they had neglected in favour of work had surfaced as vital, and they negotiated ‘no-go’ areas in arguments if they needed to say their piece but didn’t want to shatter the relationship to irreparable pieces. As they both curled up together, Cecil fell asleep instantly on Carlos’ shoulder, but Carlos stayed awake for a few moments, contemplating whether Cecil would remember this in the morning, but he was hopeful that he would. Carlos cast his eyes on the flowers, now illuminated by the rising sun, and was grateful to the woman who sold them to him for saving his relationship, for he didn’t know how things would be between him and Cecil if he hadn’t have noticed the flowers.

When Carlos finally rested his head and snuggled down next to Cecil, Cecil’s sleepily mumbled ‘I love you,’ was enough to show him that in some, many cases, science didn’t come first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I have a tumblr, I'm uncreativerabbit. Feel free to drop any sort of wtnv prompt in my ask box. Pointing out any typos and such would be cool since I wrote this in one 11 hour sit-in, so it was early morning once I finished it.
> 
> Anyway, thanks. :)


End file.
